It never f*cking happened for me. The moment I turned thirteen I had a full chest of hair, a heart on my sleeve, and I was too ready to grow up and become a man. I was chugging the coffee at home like a diesel truck chugs gasoline. Jesus, the leather attache cases; whenever I see one I feel sick, like I've got a piece of sh*t coming up my throat. My boss, he was a big f*ckin' phony, but that didn't stop me from coming into work. If it weren't for the cocaine I'd have given up then. My mom did her best to help, but whenever she looked at me she couldn't help but remember that I was still a virgin. The bitch poured olive oil over my head every morning to remind me of the fact. And the cat, the cat wouldn't stop staring at me; the little rascal was balking me; reminding me he'd only live until 15 or so, and then keel over and never become an adult, always a teenager. I've always desired acne, the thought of squeezing a little bubble, like bubble wrap, and feeling the puss squirt out always made me nauseous with desire. I watched youtube videos, I made playlists of zit popping, and every day I rubbed my face all over the pillow, never even washed the pillow once. I made my skin red and raw doing it, but never raw and bumpy. I came into work the next day with the skin of my face torn and raw, little patches of healthy skin where the pillow couldn't get to, the co-workers stared. They still stare. Their eyes are always on me, like hawks. One day I'll show 'em. The Bringum brothers up on the roof tried to bring me up there and get laid, you know what I did? I pushed that fat bitch off the roof, she looked too much like an attache for my tastes. I went to community college, 'cause maybe it'd be the closest thing I could get to high school, I got my certificate in auto repair in hopes that the grease would maybe get me that acne that I so desired. Nothing, just a skinned knuckle from working on some fool's engine. I've still got the scar from that accident; I like to remind myself that maybe I'll do it one day. I woke up this morning and there was no olie oil on my head, my mother went out to the farmer's market says the note here on my fridge. It's been 13 hours since I woke up. Jesus, she's probably out with the neighbor girl, the one who's still in high school. Next time I'll hide in her trunk and see where she's been going. My dad hasn't been around for a while. He left for his job at the railroads when I turned 13 and I haven't seen him since. I think he ran away because I out-manned him, and I can't help but feel sorry for him every time he crosses my mind. I saw his friend who usually came over when I was a kid, her name was Maurice, I think she did something with E-Commerce, so it was weird that she was friends with dad, anyway, I seen her at the community center last weekend, and she was wearing cutoff jeans and a leather jacket. The leather reminded me of attache, but Maurice reminded me of fonder times when I thought I was gonna be a teenager in a few years, I got myself out of there before anything worse happened. Usually I like to sit up on the roof of the Pink Sailor, I like to use my laser pointer on the eyes of all the nutballs who walk in there. One time one of those guys who wear the hats and the curly hair extensions saw me, and he threw me a beer. My first drink, it was one of those adolescent rites of passage. I had to mull it over in my head whether drinking would take me closer to adulthood and farther away from teenagerhood, or else whether since it was a teenager thing to do to drink before you were legally allowed whether I'd be a teenager for doing it. I decided that the best course of action would be to take a sip, I think that's waht the kids were doing these days, so I did. It tasted like piss, but curlyhat yelled "Do a gulp!", and the other men in the bar chanted. "DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!" I looked at my watch which was what I did when I got really nervous, the time was 17:47 (I set my watch to military time because it was cool), and I bolted home. A few of the men in the bar threw some empty bottles at me, one hit my foot, but generally I was too fast for them. I think after a few minutes of running I came to the GAP store, and saw some kid walking out with aviators, sports shoes, a blue hoodie, and some indigo jeans. The little sh*t, looking so smug, and teenage-like. He wasn't even a teenager, just some dumb piece of sh*t who dressed like one. I grabbed him by the shoulders, pushed him up against the wall, and felt something collapse. I'd say the next few minutes were a blur, but it wasn't like that. I couldn't control myself, but it felt so good, like a magic carpet ride or something. I pulled at the guy's upper arm fat and ripped. I looked at the piece of jacket I tore off and stuffed it in my pocket. The piece of sh*t was screaming bloody murder as if I had ripped his ear off, he wouldn't shut up. I tore at the hole where I had ripped his hoodie, and next thing I knew my fingernail was dug half an inch into his skin. I pulled and pulled, and there was a piece of leather in my hand, it was melting, there was dark liquid all over my hand. I licked the liquid and it tasted like Coca-Cola. I stuck my thumb where his skin had been and he wasn't making sounds anymore, just gurgles, and occasionally some sort of mechanical sounding click, like the angels of god were singing congratulations. I knew why. I got what I had came for, so I left. I was finally a teenager, even if it was for only a minute.